Five Kisses that Didn't Happen and Two that Did
by hoidn
Summary: What it says on the tin. (Title subject to change if I add/remove kisses.)
1. One that Didn't (Bad Water)

I've always said that I hate WIPs and now I am committing one. Don't judge me! My consolation is that each 'chapter' is its own little vignette, so even if I never finish 'all' the kisses, I'm not leaving anybody hanging. So to speak.

As always, concrit is most welcome.

* * *

Sully lay there, taut as a bowstring, as far away from Dr Mike as he could get and still be out of the rain. His hand on her hip was the warmest part of him. It felt as though every sense he had was located there, on the rounded curve of her body where her fingers threaded through his. In front of him, her hair was a dark mass above her head. Somehow he could still feel it, soft as cornsilk under his fingers. The scent of her fancy soap mingled with the rain and made him want things he had no business wanting.

He tried to breathe deep and even and prayed she'd fall asleep quickly, or that the rain would stop. But it seemed the spirits weren't listening to him that night.

"You should come closer to the fire and get out of that wet shirt," she said.

"I'm fine."

She turned her head back towards him. "Sully, don't be stubborn. You're soaking wet. If you stay like that all night you'll catch a chill."

Knowing there was no use in arguing with her, he sighed and sat up, pretending he didn't miss the feel of her hand holding his. She moved back to give him more room as he tried to crawl to the fire without touching her. Stripping his shirt off was difficult; it clung to him like a heavy skin. Once he'd wrestled it off - feeling absurdly self-conscious the entire time - he held it outside the shelter and wrung it as best he could. Although it was no longer dripping, it would still take most of the night to dry.

As he crouched by the fire he admitted to himself that even though he was still wet he _was_ warmer.

"Do you want the blanket?" Her soft voice came out of the darkness. When he looked over at her, she was barely visible, just the suggestion of a dark shape against an even deeper darkness.

He shook his head and felt wet rivulets snake down his arms and back from his hair. "No, you keep it," he told her.

"We could share."

It was an innocent suggestion, he knew. She was just trying to be helpful the way she always was. That didn't stop his pulse from speeding up or images from flickering through his mind that were best not dwelt on. But he knew he needed sleep; they both did.

She held the blanket open as he crawled back to where she lay. Now they were facing each other, her knees drawn up against his thighs. The blanket didn't quite reach all the way around him, but the fire at his back kept him from being cold. He was more concerned about her.

"Are you warm enough?"

She made a little humming sound, then yawned and closed her eyes. "Except my feet." Her voice had gone drowsy. "They're always cold. I miss my hot water bottle."

"Surprised you didn't bring it with you," Sully said lightly.

Her mouth curved into a small smile. "You would've made me leave it behind anyway," she retorted.

He huffed out a soft laugh. It was a nice way of saying 'I told you so' he guessed. Maybe he owed her something for making her leave the tent behind.

That's what he told himself as he reached down and took one of her feet in his hands. Her eyes flew open and she stared at him. He waited for her to pull away or get mad, but instead she just closed her eyes again. "You're so warm," she whispered.

He felt her relax as he moved his hands gently against her stockings, careful not to touch anything other than her foot. It was so small he could almost hold it entirely in one hand. After a few minutes she wiggled her toes and smiled, and he switched to the other foot.

When it seemed she'd fallen asleep, he tucked her foot back beside the other. She surprised him by placing a hand over his and squeezing gently . "Thank you, Sully."

"You're welcome," he told her, though it felt dishonest, somehow, to accept her thanks for doing something he'd liked so much.

She shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable he supposed, and then grew still. He watched her face relax as she fell into sleep, remembering another night he'd done the same thing.

When he was sure she was asleep, he reached out to smooth away a piece of hair that had fallen across her face. Her skin was cool and soft against his fingers, exactly as he remembered. Unable to deny himself this one thing, he leaned over slowly and pressed his lips lightly against her cheek. He pulled back and watched her for a moment, feeling things he didn't want to name, then lay down.

With the sound of the rain and her soft breaths in his ears, he followed her into sleep.


	2. another that didn't (Running Ghost)

In his dreams there's water. A bank of soft grass by a small, shallow stream. In the stream bed are smooth, round stones. Under the clear water their colours are browns, mossy greens, soft greys. They seem to shift and change with the movement of the water, with the glint of the sun. No two are alike.

o

For the first few days of his recovery, Sully passes in and out of sleep like a doorway from one room to the next. The pain follows him in both directions. He wakes frightened by his helplessness and angry at his fear.

Always there is a small, steady pair of hands and a soft voice to soothe him.

o

The dream water is cool in his throat, against his skin. He lies on the grass and watches the play of light on the stones, dazzled.

There is nothing else he wants.

o

His ribs ache and his body is covered in fading bruises. His legs are useless. Despite Dr Mike's optimism, there's been no improvement. He can't move or feel anything below his hips.

Under the frustration at his weakness is a hard, sharp core of despair.

Matthew rubs Cloud Dancing's salve onto his legs. If he turns his head it's as if nothing is happening at all.

Dr Mike's face is unguarded when he makes himself look at her, the worry plain. She meets his gaze and her eyes are clear as water, the colours of his dreams. They hide nothing.

He looks away, laid bare, defeated.

His left foot twitches.

o

Mid-morning and he's sitting on the porch steps. It's been three days since he started walking again and now he can make it out to the yard on his own.

The sunlight is warm and the air smells sweet. After weeks of being cooped up indoors, it's a relief to be outside. He closes his eyes and thinks about nothing in particular.

Inside, the kettle whistles. He opens his eyes as he hears a light tread behind him. Dr Mike sits on the step next to him and hands him a cup. "It's a beautiful day," she says.

"It is," he agrees.

She's been washing. Her sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, the fabric covered in damp, clinging spots. She's holding her own cup in both hands, warming them. Up close, her wrists look small and delicate, the insides of her arms so pale he can see the blue veins running under the skin. He knows how soft that skin is.

He's spent almost three weeks sleeping in her bed, between her sheets, under her watchful doctor's eyes. It's only increased his fascination with her: this strange, fragile, complicated thing between them. He feels the danger of it even as he lets it pull him in.

They sit in an easy silence, almost but not quite touching. From the other side of the house he can hear Colleen and Brian's voices, the sounds but not the words. He sips his tea and winces at the bitterness, glances again at Dr Mike.

This morning her hair is down, held back from her face by combs at the sides. It's so long it touches the step she's sitting on. In the sun her hair is even prettier than it is in firelight. It seems almost to spark with flashes of honey and molasses, a copper gloss like a waterfall.

From the corner of his eye he watches her blow across the surface of her tea to cool it. He tries not to notice the shape of her mouth or the way her bottom lip sticks slightly to the rim of the cup after she takes a sip.

She licks her lip and he has to look away.

It's good, he thinks, that he won't need to be staying here much longer. Eyes resolutely forward, he drinks his tea.

From behind them comes a crash and Colleen's outraged voice. "Brian! Look what you did! I told you not to touch it!"

Sully turns to Dr Mike. Almost in chorus, both Brian and Colleen call out for her.

"Ma!"

"Dr Mike!"

She raises her eyebrows and quirks her mouth into a half smile. He reaches out to take her cup as she rises, the movement of her skirts like a sigh in the air around him.

In his hand, her cup is warm and still half full. He sets his own down on the step and turns hers between his palms so that he's holding it as she had. His thumb runs along the rim as he stares into the dark liquid. A foolish, schoolboy notion settles into his head and makes his heart beat faster. It's impossible to resist.

Slowly, he brings the cup to his mouth, placing his lips over the imprint of hers. He takes a sip. When he pulls the cup away, he licks his lower lip and feels a pang of disappointment. There's no trace of her taste there, just the tea.

He swipes his thumb against the cup, smudging the place where their mouths overlapped, knowing it's as close to kissing her as he'll probably ever come.

He tells himself it shouldn't matter.


	3. this one didn't (Where the Heart Is)

(i just wanted to take a second to say thank you to everyone who has left a review for me as a 'guest'. i hate that i can't thank you individually, but i'm afraid this will have to do.)

Our scene begins mid-episode when Michaela and Sully have just returned to Mama Quinn's house after the opera. (I feel like there should be stage curtains or something.)

* * *

"Wait," he says, as she turns to leave. "Stay and talk with me a while."

She looks back at him uncertainly and he gestures towards the darkened sitting room. "I shouldn't," she says, glancing up the stairs. "Mother will have one of the maids waiting up to help me."

Sully doesn't know what to say to persuade her, or even what made him ask in the first place. There's no real reason, only he doesn't want her to go. He wants just a little more time with her all to himself and that's not something he's prepared to say out loud.

The clock in the hall ticks, ticks, ticks.

"Will you give me a few minutes?" she asks, finally.

He nods and watches her walk up the stairs. At the top, she looks back down at him with an unreadable expression before disappearing from his sight.

In the sitting room, he lights one of the lamps and takes off his jacket and tie, unbuttoning his collar. Too restless to sit, he roams the room, examining the shadows. His time in Boston has shown him the greatness of the gulf that lies between the life he knows and the one she comes from. It's made him admire her even more for what she's built for herself in Colorado. He's never met anyone like her, doesn't think there _could_ be anyone like her. She is the most challenging, frustrating, extraordinary person he's ever known.

He hears her coming down the stairs as he's staring out the window and turns in time to see her walk into the room. She's wearing what he thinks of as one of her Colorado dresses. Her hair is down her back in curls and her feet are bare. Less fancy than in her Boston clothes, he likes her better this way. This is the woman he knows. The one who's faced down soldiers and warriors. The one who taught herself to ride and cook and sew. The one who's saved his life.

She sits on the sofa in a pool of light and smiles at him and he is drawn to her like a moth. All night she has been beautiful, but here, now, is the loveliest he's ever seen her. He wants to hold her hand again as he did when they were dancing. He wants to feel the warm press of her thigh against his as he did in the carriage. He's tired of fighting this need he has to be close to her, to have her smile just for him. An entire evening of granted wishes has left him defenceless.

"What did you think of the opera?" she asks as he sits next to her.

He tries to think of something polite to say. "It was interestin'."

She laughs. "That's very diplomatic."

"You liked it?" he asks, because that's what's important.

"Very much." A softness comes over her face. "My father used to take us to the opera when I was younger. I don't think my mother or my sisters ever liked it especially, but I fell in love with it the very first time. Something about the grandness of it all, the way no one is afraid to feel anything or to acknowledge it, even though it almost always ends in tragedy. There's something courageous about that, I think."

"Like you."

A slight shake of her head. "No, I don't think so."

"I think so."

She bites her lip and looks away and he wonders if he's said something wrong.

"You waltz very well," she says after a moment.

"I had a good teacher."

"Oh? Anyone I know?"

He smiles at the recollection. "Colleen."

"Colleen? But... when?"

"Yesterday."

She looks stunned. "You learned to waltz yesterday?"

He nods.

"Why?"

He looks down to where her hands are folded neatly in her lap, stretches out one finger and runs it slowly along the side of her wrist. "You know why."

She holds very still as he repeats the caress.

"Sully, why did you come to Boston?"

"I told you, I got worried."

"You could have sent a telegram."

That makes him pause. The truth is it hadn't occurred to him. He hadn't questioned his need to see her for himself. And he'd never allowed himself to think too hard on what it was that had him worried in the first place.

"Are you sayin' I shouldn't have come?"

Her hand covers his. "No, I'm glad you came. I just - it's such a long way..."

She trails off as he turns his hand under hers so they are palm to palm. Her fingers curl a little into his, natural as breathing. Her hands are a marvel to him, so small yet so capable. She has cut into folks, sewn them up, saved his life with those hands. Just the touch of them makes his heart beat faster.

"I missed you," he says unevenly.

"You did?"

He swallows hard. "All your friends in Colorado Springs miss you."

"All my friends." Some of the brightness leaves her face. "Is that what we are, Sully? Friends?"

He hesitates, unable to judge her tone or expression. "I thought so."

"And that's all?" Her voice is so careful, her eyes searching his in the dim light.

"Ain't that enough?"

She looks at him for a moment before pulling her hand from his grasp. "No," she says in a low voice. "I don't think it is."

His heart freezes inside his chest.

The clock in the hall chimes once, deep and hollow. "It's late. I should go to bed." She stands and looks down at him, her eyes not quite meeting his. "Goodnight, Sully."

What he hears is goodbye. He grabs at her hand. "Don't go."

"Sully, I'm tired. Please." Her voice catches on the last word and she tries to pull away, still not looking at him.

He holds on tight. "When are you comin' home?"

"This is my home."

"No, it's not. Not anymore. You told me that. You told me Colorado Springs is your home now."

"I thought it was. I don't know anymore." She sounds small and lost and it hurts him to hear.

"It is," he tells her fiercely. "You know it is."

She shakes her head, not in denial but in confusion. He knows he has to convince her now; he has never been more sure of anything in his life. The fear of losing her this way galvanises him. He will beg if he has to.

"Please come home."

"Why?" she whispers.

He looks up at her beautiful, vulnerable face. All his caution and uncertainty, all the reasons he's tried to hide from her and from himself, fall away.

"Because I love you."

She sinks back down onto the sofa, eyes wide, mouth open.

He shifts closer and kisses her knuckles, turns her hand over to press his lips against the pulse at her wrist. All the while he holds her gaze with his, not letting her look away.

He reaches out to brush a lock of hair from her face. As his fingers follow the curl down over her shoulder, her eyes close and her hand holds tighter to his. Something surges through his body at this invitation, makes his pulse race.

Fingertips on her chin, he leans in until he can feel her breath light and fast against his lips. Her lashes are long and dark against her skin and he has the sudden urge to kiss her there, on the high arch of bone just under her eye. But her mouth is so close, her chin tilted just slightly, and he is utterly, utterly lost.

Their first kiss lasted barely longer than a breath yet it's stayed with him all this time. Now he wonders how he could have forgotten the exact sensation of her mouth under his, how he could have waited so long to feel it again. She shivers slightly as he slides his hand under her hair, cradling her head. Trying to hold as much of her as he can, to absorb her into his skin. She is a fever in him; his need for her shakes him to the bone. He tries to rein in his feelings but she's kissing him back, leaning into him, one hand clutching his, her other on his thigh like a brand, marking him as her own.

And he is.

It's the sound of the clock chiming the quarter hour that allows him to finally break away. She opens her eyes and looks at him with flushed cheeks and a shy smile.

"I love you, too."

Joy bursts within him, dammed for so long it's almost pain. He holds tight to both of her hands like a drowning man. Somewhere in him he knew, he's always known, but to hear her say it, to have her look at him as though he is all she's ever wanted is almost more than he can bear.

"So you'll come home?" he asks, when he can speak.

Her laugh ripples sweetly between them. "Yes."

"Good," he says, leaning in to kiss her again. "That's good."

* * *

according to wikipedia, clocks didn't start chiming the quarter hour until the early 20th century but guess how much i care about this piece of historical accuracy.


	4. the first one that did (Epidemic)

Their conversation about the Cheyenne medicine bothered him, but it wasn't until the incident at the general store that Sully understood why. He looked at Jake leaning against the post, watched Hank swagger off with a sneer, and realised he was too used to the people of Colorado Springs and their suspicion of anything they didn't know.

What he'd said to Dr Mike had been wrong.

He went back to the boarding house and found her upstairs, sponging Mrs Thompson. Standing in the doorway, Sully took in the droop of her shoulders and the pallor of her face.

"You should get some rest," he said.

The basin in her hands made a clinking sound as she set it down and turned to face him wearily. "I can't. There are too many people who need my help."

"You can't help 'em if you wear yourself out."

"I'm fine."

"You ain't fine."

"What else can I do, Sully? People are dying and I can't save them. I simply don't have the resources."

He took a few steps into the room and crouched down next to her chair. "More people'd be dead if it wasn't for you. Think about all the people you're savin'."

"I just don't know what to do anymore," she confessed. "Maybe you were right. Maybe I should try some of the Cheyenne medicine."

Sully shook his head. "What you said's true. It could make people sicker if you don't know how to use it right."

"I feel so helpless." Her eyes dropped down to where her hands had left damp spots on her skirt.

The sheen of sweat on her face and the shadows under her eyes had him worried. "You eaten anythin' today?"

"Hmm?" She looked up at him blankly for a moment. "I had some soup earlier, I think."

Before he could tell her that she needed to eat to keep her strength up, Colleen rushed in, breathless. "Dr Mike, Mr Hutchins just brought in little Billy. He's real bad."

"Thank you, Colleen. I'll be right there."

Sully stood up to let her pass. "You need anythin', I'll be over at Robert E's," he said as she started for the door.

Her smile when she turned back was wan but sincere. "Thank you, Sully."

-o-

There were too many people to bury, too many coffins to be made. Sully worked with Robert E building them through the afternoon. Aside from their sawing and hammering, the air was strangely quiet. No kids were playing, no raucous laughter drifted from the saloon. Fear hovered like a mist over the town, smothering everything.

Towards evening, they packed away their tools. As the air cooled, they leaned against the fence next to the forge and looked across at the boarding house.

"Dr Mike's a nice lady," said Robert E, taking a swig from his canteen.

"Yeah, she is."

"Real pretty, too."

Sully eyed his friend warily. "I guess."

"And a doctor. Be a lucky man to catch a woman like that."

"You think a woman like that's gonna marry a rancher?" Sully snorted. "Or maybe Jake Slicker?"

Robert E shrugged. "Reverend's a good man. Got an education."

"All he knows is preachin' and the Bible. He ain't smart enough for her." Sully bit into a piece of jerky and chewed a little harder than necessary. For some reason the conversation unsettled him. "When'd you start matchmakin' anyway?"

"Just been thinkin' that a lady who's got some kinda tie here gonna be more likely to stick around. This town sure needs a doc like her."

"She's got the Cooper kids."

Taking his cap off, Robert E splashed water over his face and neck. "No reason she's gotta stay here with 'em. Could take 'em back to Boston if she wanted."

"She wouldn't do that," Sully said quickly. "She wouldn't just take 'em away from everyone they know, everyone who cares about 'em."

"Might do, she don't find a good reason to stay. Ain't like the town's all that welcomin' to her even now." Robert E pulled his cap back on and wiped at his face with one sleeve. "She might just decide one day to go back home."

Sully felt something knot in his gut, but said nothing. Over the roofs of the town, the sky was stained red, bleeding to purple as the sun inched down the horizon. Shadows grew longer and blended into each other like drops of water sliding down a pane. Every window in the boarding house glowed with light, the sign of a town fighting not to be wiped out.

_She wouldn't just leave_, Sully told himself. But a small kernel of doubt lodged deep down that he couldn't shake.

-o-

He stayed close to town that night. Under the stars he thought about home, about family.

Water was where he came from, but home was the plains and mountains he'd come to find. As a boy working on the docks, people were always telling him about the freedom of the ocean, but as far as Sully could figure it was no better than a wall, the blank edge of the world. To him the ocean was just another kind of desert, one you couldn't even walk on. A man could die of thirst in either place.

The path he had taken away from the city that killed both his parents was almost a straight line heading west. Sully had never been to Boston, but he knew it was a city by the ocean too. He wondered if it was that same blank wall that had brought Dr Mike to Colorado after her pa died, looking for something she could call her own.

He wondered about her a lot.

Somehow she'd crept into his head and he found his thoughts circling back to her more and more. He'd see something and want to show it to her, or he'd think of something he wanted to tell her. She had a curiosity about everything, was almost as bad as Brian about asking questions. But he liked talking to her, liked listening to her. And he liked watching her. Wherever she was, his eyes were drawn there. Without his permission, without his even being aware of it, his gaze followed her, like a compass swinging north.

On his back, looking up at the stars, Sully tried again to get Robert E's words out of his mind. He didn't want to think about her leaving, didn't want to think about why the idea of it had him so uneasy.

The truth was that Michaela Quinn shook him. She stirred up things in him he'd thought long buried. They were things he didn't want to face, wasn't ready to face; they weighed heavy on his heart. But every time he took himself away, he found an excuse to return. To see her, be near her. If she left Colorado, he knew, there'd be no excuse that could take him far enough.

-o-

He fell asleep thinking about her gone and in the morning she fainted in his arms.

Time stopped moving the way it was supposed to.

He carried her into the boarding house, the heat of her skin searing him even through her clothes. She was wet with sweat, pieces of her hair plastered to her face and neck. All his gladness at Brian's recovery was subsumed in cold, sticky fear.

Matthew went for Cloud Dancing. Sully waited, holding on. Time jerked along, speeding up and slowing down; things happened as they did in the logic of dreams.

She was face-down on the bed, uncovered to the dip of her tiny waist. He was caught as any animal in a snare. Time held still. All that bare skin gleaming and her hair splayed out across the pillow. The smooth plane of her back and the indent of her spine just wide enough for a man's thumb to slide down. Desire twisted in him shamefully, but he couldn't look away. Underneath the want was a tenderness that made him afraid. A longing to protect her, keep her safe. If he could have taken the sickness from her body into his own to spare her, he would have.

Time jumped, crossed over. He carried her, cradled her. She smelled of sweat and smoke, healing herbs. He fell into a shallow sleep by her bed, restless dreams.

"Will she live?" he demanded again and again. The answer was always the same. A bird wing brushed his skin. Fire crackled. Or was it a voice?

"Sully?"

He woke with a start, grabbing for her reaching hand. It took him a moment to grasp that she was awake, fever broken. All at once time slid back into its rhythm as if it had never strayed.

"Don't go away," he told her, foolish with joy. "Don't go away."

As Olive and the children left, she sank back into sleep as quickly as she'd woken. Sully hovered over her carefully, studying her face. With the flush of the fever gone, her skin was pale again, her damp hair spread like a dark halo against the sheets.

Moving slowly, he bent to smooth the hair from her forehead and pressed a kiss against her temple. Cloud Dancing's words came back to him from the healing ritual, from his dream. They were connected now, he knew. Their spirits. Her life and his.

He studied her a moment more, wondering, then blew out the lamp and found his way in the dark.


End file.
